The moment I knew
by Rita C
Summary: Collection of stories written for the 'Jonsa: a dream of spring' celebration on Tumblr. Seven prompts that inspired seven stories, ranging from AU's to canon divergences to post series.
1. The Ghosts Within

Not mine, as usual I'm just playing with someone else's toys.

Written for the '_Jonsa: a dream of spring'_ celebration on Tumblr. If you have one, come and find me there – I'm pax_2735.

_**Prompt for day 1:**__ Seasons/Songs/Quotes_

**Summary: **Post season finale, canon divergence. Sansa faces her new reality.

The Ghosts Within

_I'm just a stupid girl, with stupid dreams, who never learns._

Sansa stares at her reflection in the mirror, her hands smoothing down her dress in an effort to clear away any non-existent wrinkles in the soft grey fabric. She's nervous, she admits.

She absently picks up her gloves while staring out into the quickly darkening sky, wondering whether she will need them. Part of her wants to forgo them, wants to feel what is about to happen on her bare skin, but the rest of her is afraid. Of what, she doesn't know herself.

Her mind races to hold on to something familiar, something to ground her to. Songs from long ago flitter through her head, tales of valiant knights and beautiful queens, and the dreams that once filled her childhood. Her mother and father, Robb's smiling face and Rickon's childish glee, Lady's wet nose pressed against her face. All of her ghosts seem to be here tonight, and her heart rejoices in their presence. They should be here to witness this.

The words come unbidden and she hums under her breath as she looks back into the mirror, discarding her gloves on top of her vanity. She knows there is no need to be afraid, and for the first time in a very long time, both her heart and her mind seem to agree.

_They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain. _

There is a soft rapping on the door and the song dies in her throat as she moves to answer it, taking a shuddering breath to steel herself. She knows it's time.

Her stomach tightens as the Kingsguards escort her through the stone hallways, staying clear from the portions of the Keep that are still in shambles after the destruction of King's Landing. It's a longer path but she doesn't begrudge them for it. She knows she's merely delaying the inevitable but she is still grateful for this brief respite.

They cross a large wooden door that leads them into the gardens, the scent of dozens of flowers perfuming the night air, their path illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Her unbound locks waver softly with the gentle breeze, her skirts rustling against the pebbled paths, so different from Winterfell, and her chest hurts at the thought she may never see her home again.

She can see lit torches up ahead, marking the entrance to the Godswood. There is a larger, grander ceremony scheduled to happen tomorrow in what still remains from the Sept, but they had agreed to start here, in front of the old gods they had both worshipped a lifetime ago.

Arya is waiting for her by the gates, and she smiles as she sees her sister. Bran has stayed home as there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and she is grateful for the presence of at least one of her remaining siblings. Arya smiles back ruefully before holding out her hand.

"You could have worn a dress for this." Sansa quips in light banter, but her voice wavers slightly, betraying her nerves.

"I could," she answers with a shrug, "but that wouldn't be me." Arya's smile fades and she nods her head once before squeezing Sansa's hand reassuringly. "You'll be alright." She looks sideways towards the people gathered around the Weirwood tree. "You both will."

Sansa's fingers tighten around her sister's hand and she gives her a small smile, before the two begin the walk down the path stretched out in front of them. This is the third time she's marrying someone for political reasons, for the North and its people, for the good of the Realm, and her mind scoffs in rebellion at such notions.

But as she walks across the parting crowd and comes to a stop in front of him, she knows that's not all this is.

Jon is looking at her with a look of sheer wonder across his face, his slightly parted mouth letting out a puff of air, and even though she can easily see the nerves in his stance, his eyes are warm and loving as their gazes lock.

His cloak is black with red embroidering, the colors of his house, secured in the front by a clasp shaped as a direwolf. She can't say that she likes them, that she likes his new identity as a Targaryen. But after Jon had killed Daenerys in the wake of the destruction of the city, her dragon had gone into a rage, fire burning through the walls of the Great Hall, scorching everything in its path. It was only Jon's Targaryen blood that had allowed him to come out unscathed, and for that she is grateful.

Sam clears his throat loudly, signaling the beginning of the ceremony, as his voice rings out surprisingly steady across the crisp night air. "Who comes before the gods tonight?"

Arya's tone is steady, a hint of pride shining through. "Sansa, of House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble, she comes to seek the blessings of the gods." Her eyes land on Jon, her forever brother, as she continues. "Who comes to claim her?"

He stands up straighter as he takes a small step towards them. "Jon, of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rohynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm claims her."

Sam looks back at her with a solemn look. "Lady Sansa, do you take this man?"

She stares into his eyes and let's herself remember everything they have gone through to get to this point. The feeling of his arms around her, when they had first met at Castle Black, and how safe she had felt after so long of being afraid. The way he stood beside her as they fought their way to reclaim their home, never once wavering. The long nights spent talking, truly getting to know each other for the first time. She remembers the smiles and the fights, and the way they always seemed to rile each other up. She remembers the aching feeling in her chest as he rode home with his new queen, telling herself that it was anger at his actions that burned inside of her and not something else.

_When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a High Lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong._

She feels the tears gather in her eyes as she remembers her father's promise. _You did Father. Thank you. _

In her heart she knows why she is here and there is no hesitation in her voice as she steps forward and places her hand in his. "I take this man."


	2. What's in a Name?

_Day 2: Wolves/Traitors/Bastards_

**Summary: **Companion piece to the previous installment, Jon's POV.

What's in a Name

His steward drapes the cloak carefully over his shoulders, a heavy thing made up of black wool, red dragons stitched upon its edges, and walks round to close the clasp before taking a measured step back to appraise his work. Satisfied with what he sees, he gives him a practiced bow. "You look very regal Your Grace, if I do say so myself."

He's dismissed by a slight nod of the head, the bulky man trotting along effortlessly, and Jon finally breathes. He has been surrounded by people for most of the day, pinching and prodding and nodding with satisfied glances aimed at him, and he feels drained.

He raises a hand to touch the clasp on his cloak almost reverently. The silver work is exquisite, a direwolf's head baring its teeth in a snarl, and he feels a tightening in his throat. It's something his father would wear. No, not his father, he corrects, his uncle. He's not a wolf, no matter how much he's always wanted it, longed for it, no matter how Arya and Sansa keep telling him he is.

He wonders ruefully when has wanting to be a wolf morphed into simply _wanting_ a wolf.

The Keep is mostly silent, the staff still down to a bare minimum only to keep things functioning, most of them hard at work to prepare for the small feast later in the evening. The city is being rebuilt, slowly picking itself up after the wreckage brought upon by dragon fire and ambition, but there is still much to be done. Never had he thought that such a task would fall upon his shoulders.

It's no wonder they thought he needed help, and who better suited for the role than Ned Stark's daughter, the blood of Winterfell, _Sansa_.

His heavy footsteps echo across the darkened stone hallways as he wanders around aimlessly, thankfully undisturbed, as he tries to gather his wits, tries to find the courage to face her, even though his heart and his body, his whole being seems to yearn for little else.

He feels a though he's betraying her, although what is the exact reason for his treachery, he cannot say. Taking her away from Winterfell, from the North and the only home they had ever known, making her return to this city where she has known nothing but pain and misery might be one. Forcing her into yet another marriage, forcing her to marry someone whom merely a few moons ago she had looked upon with the fondness bestowed on a brother is another. Or perhaps it is merely the knowledge that he has agreed to it not for the sake of the Realm he's sworn to protect, not to strengthen their already settled bonds with the North, and certainly not for some long discarded notion of loyalty, but simply because he wants this, _wants her_.

He thinks this might be the very first time in his entire life when he does something simply for himself.

Sir Davos is waiting near the entrance to the gardens, ready to escort him to the Godswood. They walk in silence, the soft rustling of trees swaying in the gentle breeze the only thing disturbing his thoughts. Fireflies buzz around the cobbled path but otherwise everything is still.

He steers clear from the lit torches, his unconscious mind guiding his steps away as he has done ever since that fateful day, when dragon fire had engulfed him after he had plunged his dagger into Daenerys' chest. He had not burned, though he bears the marks just the same. He's not a wolf, not really, but turns out he's not a full dragon either. A bastard, through and through, even if he finally bears his father's name.

The small crowd parts as he walks by to take his place in front of the Weirwood tree. Gendry and Edmure Tully are faces he recognizes alongside some other Lords he has yet to learn the names of. Tyrion stands there as well, and the Imp gives him a forlorn look before averting his eyes. Sam is the only one Jon is actually glad to see, alongside Davos, and the two men clasp him on the shoulder warmly before Davos nods his head towards the gates, his eyes shining.

Sansa is a vision.

She begins the walk down the path that will lead her to him, Arya at her side, every bit the wolf protecting its pack, and he stares at her in awe. He knows he's gaping, and wouldn't Robb have a good laugh at his expense if he could see him now, Theon teasing him merciless, but he cannot help it. She looks stunning, she always does, dressed in soft greys and whites, her red hair swaying gently down her back as she steadily makes her way to him. He forces out a breath and rakes a shaking hand through his hair as ocean blue eyes lock on stormy grey.

She comes to a stop but she doesn't avert her eyes, never wavers from his gaze, and it's only when Sam clears his voice does he realize it's time.

He's proud of how steady his voice sounds as he recites the words, at how his hands don't shake when he takes her cloak to replace it with his own. His mind may feel as though he's in a haze but his body doesn't seem to hesitate one moment as it recognizes its mate. It's only when Sam ties their hands together with a silk ribbon, symbolic of their now joined lives, that the fog begins to lift and he feels his chest expand.

He has been called many things throughout his life, most of them unpleasant. _Bastard_, although that he was never his fault, although he has never truly deserved it, a lie spun to save his life that ended up shaping it just as well. _Traitor_, even as he has always tried to stay true to his honor and to his duty, even as his actions were always borne out of necessity and never carelessly taken. _Queenslayer_, despite it having been done because it was necessary, despite it being the reason why countless others lived. _King,_ even though he has never wanted it.

Tonight, he looks forward to becoming something new. Something he had never allowed himself to hope, hadn't dared to dream. Something he hadn't known he wanted, until the day he saw her again.

_Husband_.


	3. The Broken Compass

_Day3: Winterfell/Essos/Beyond the Wall_

**Summary:** Post series finale, canon divergence. Daenerys is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Sansa has to face the consequences.

The Broken Compass

Sansa flees north, as that seems to be all she knows.

She treks her way across snowy plains and nearly frozen riverbanks, her hands bleeding as she crawls over step slopes and high inclines, scratching her legs as she looks for shelter for the night inside tiny caves, not big enough to house any animals that could hurt her further. She has lived this before, this nightmare of ice and dread where home no longer means safety, where Winterfell doesn't stand for warm beds and hearty meals and soft touches.

She shivers as she pulls her knees closer to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She feels so cold, but she doesn't know whether it is from the icy ringlets of water coating her tattered dress or merely from sheer desperation.

She barely sleeps, her body too exhausted to allow herself more than a brief moment of rest. Still, when she closes her eyes she dreams. Visions of giant flapping wings and a beautiful queen, of blackened stone walls and the endless screaming of the dying. In her dreams she sees Winterfell, burning under the scorching heat of dragon fire.

She is up again and moving as soon as the first rays of light flitter across the morning sky. North, she thinks, always north.

The journey to Castle Black seems to take longer than she remembers and, once there, nothing _is_ as she remembers.

The Night's Watch is no more, their purpose utterly defeated by Jon's past actions. The army of the dead is gone, and there seems to be a somewhat peaceful coexisting with the Wildlings now. The few men who remain have little duties and have forgotten their vows, turning the courtyard of the once gloomy fortress into a lively mixture of scurrying wives and laughing children.

Still, they are friendly towards her. She presents herself as Alayne Stone, a bastard from the Vale venturing up into the North, and the lies come easily enough that no one suspects her true identity. They offer her a bed and some warm furs, and that's all she can ask for.

As the days turn and go she keeps mostly to herself, despite the women's best efforts to strike up a conversation, eager for new stories they can share during the long nights spent out here on the edge of the world. She indulges them with stories from her time in the Vale but not much else.

She resorts back to her old ways, survival strategies she had been forced to learn since the time her family was taken from her and she had to fend for herself. Mostly, she listens, picking up on random pieces of information and wayward conversations to determine her next course of action.

Still, as days wander by and nothing happens, it's difficult not to indulge in the growing sense of safety that nestles inside her heart. She fears it won't last but still, she hopes.

It takes almost two turns of the moon for her peace to shatter.

The courtyard is in uproar as two riders come through the gates, bearing news from the south, and Sansa approaches them with as much curiosity as everyone else. Her face is puzzled even as her heart hammers in her chest as scattered pieces of conversation start drifting towards her.

"They are in Winterfell – "

"There's thousands – "

"The Queen wants this over – "

"They burned it –"

She grabs a passing man and pulls him to her, no hint of an apology on her lips. "What are they saying? What news do they bring?"

The man looks her over with a leer and Sansa bristles, dropping her hands to her sides. He doesn't seem too happy with that. "What does it matter to you?"

Her voice grows hard as her temper flails. "What news do they bring from the south?"

"I might be forthcoming with information, depending on the reward." He's staring, and she can feel his eyes travelling over her body, his face doing little to hide his thoughts. It sickens her, the way it always comes down to this. Her hand drops to the folds of her skirts and she pulls out her dagger – a ragged looking thing, with blunt edges and a rusty pommel, but still more than enough to do some damage.

He seems to think so as well as he takes a step back, looking her over once more before finally deciding she's not worth it and scurrying away. She's left torn between joining the fast growing crowd or fleeing the scene entirely but she settles for something in between.

"The Queen sent the Unsullied there, and they have taken over the Keep," a woman says in awe.

"I heard it doesn't exist anymore, she burnt it," another voice answers.

"How could she have burned it?"

"The dragons." There's a scuffling sound and several voices talking at the same time before the first one speaks again. "Winterfell is gone, I tell you."

"What about the Starks?"

There's silence before someone mutters darkly, "There are no Starks left. They're all gone."

"There's the Lady of Winterfell," someone adds, in a gentler tone, and several voices agree.

"You think the Queen sent her armies here for what? Tell her what a good job she's been doing?" There are frowns on several of the faces but no one dares dispute it. "If she's not dead already, she soon will be."

"What about her brother? The one who sits with the Queen?" The owner of the voice, a young boy with shinning eyes, seems to shrink under the stares of the older men, his voice barely above a whisper as he adds timidly, "Wouldn't he do something, if any of that is true?"

A beat of silence seems to fill the air before another nameless voice answers. "He's not her brother."

Sansa steps away from her carefully hidden spot amongst the shadows, her feet treading lightly upon the freshly fallen snow so as to not alert anyone of her presence. Her mind is swirling, her thoughts straying down the path she has carefully avoided since fleeing the Keep.

Jon isn't her brother. Jon is in King's Landing with the Queen. Jon _hasn't_ stopped her.

There's a man standing next to the old worn down elevator that leads up to the top of the Wall. He seems to be sleeping, his head falling downwards against his chest, but as she tries to side step him he looks up accusingly.

"Apologies. I didn't mean to disturb you."

He doesn't answer her, his dark eyes appraising her before nodding his head towards the elevator in a silent question. She has no reason to trust this man besides her own weariness but still, she finds her feet leading her inside before she can question herself.

The journey up is made in silence, his weathered hands working the ancient machinery with practiced ease. She keeps a careful watch on him, but that is forgotten once they reach the top, her eyes riveted to the vastness that seems to stretch on forever. Jon had brought her up here during her first stay in Castle Black and even though her thoughts are in turmoil right now, she marvels. She had forgotten how beautiful it is.

The old ranger sits on an ice bench carved on the side of the Wall, seemingly lost in thought, and Sansa surveys him carefully. He seems to be an old man although she cannot say for sure, his features possessing a sort of ageless quality. His hair is slightly streaked with grey but his eyes are sharp and clear, and he has an easiness about him that speaks of the many, many years spent here.

His eyes are trained on the piece of wood he's carving and she looks back out over the edge, suddenly startling at the sound of his voice.

"You can't stay here." He keeps his head down, the knife in his hand moving swiftly despite the dim light. "It's not safe. Not for you and not for anyone else."

She keeps her eyes steadily forward as she wonders at his words, recognizing the truth in them. Still, she tries to delay the conversation, tries to steer him in another direction, one that doesn't involve questions she has no answers for. "I thought those riders came bearing news," she hears a snort at that, "but instead they seem to know absolutely nothing." He's looking at her now, and she sees a glimpse of something there. Recognition, perhaps.

"Rumors, that's all they're good for. Gossip to keep the men entertained and the women happy." He drops his eyes back to his carving and shrugs casually. "The only ones who know what's happened there are the ones who _were_ there."

Sansa shivers, her hands gripping the edges of the Wall tighter as she refuses to look at him. Refuses to move, or even breathe. "If any of what they're saying is true, then no one knows."

"Someone always knows."

His attention is entirely focused on her now, and she deflates, giving up on this charade. "I don't know where to go." Her voice sounds small, like a child begging for forgiveness, and she realizes she's shivering.

He lowers his eyes back to his carving, seeming to ponder her words. "There have been others like you, you know. Showing up here with nothing but the clothes on their back, trying to escape the madness. They always end up going the same way." He gives a slight nod to his head. "North."

She shakes her head. Not that the thought hadn't crossed her mind, but… "What would I do there?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Plot for revenge." He looks up and gives her a wicked grin before his face softens into a sad smile. "Have a life." His gaze wanders out over the Wall and across the vast snowy landscape. "Things are different out there but they're not all bad." He turns his eyes back at her before he adds, "either way, it's more than you've got here.

He gives her a small nod and she smiles shakily at him, before leaning over the edge. There's something riveting about those vast stretches of land, the _wildness_ of it, that seems both absurdly appealing and incredibly frightening. She inhales the crisp night air, its iciness burning its way across her chest, as she ponders the notion.

North, always north.

She leaves her small quarters as soon as dawn begins to unravel, the timid sun still barely visible above the horizon. Her few possessions have been packed the night before, and she picks up the bag and throws it over a shoulder before making her way towards the gates beneath the Wall.

The ranger is already there, waiting for her and she stops in her tracks and lifts a brow as she sees the horse.

"I know it's not much to look at," he says as he holds the reins towards her, "but she's sturdier than she looks." She gives him a small smile before following him across the tunnel, climbing on the horse as he begins to open the gate.

"Thank you."

He shrugs as if her words mean nothing and Sansa gives him a last nod before turning the horse, stopping momentarily as she hears his gruff voice. "He's been here all night. I think he was waiting for you."

She gives him a puzzled look before turning her head to look ahead. Her heart soars as she sees Ghost pacing across the snow, his red eyes looking at her before his tail waggles and he growls. The horse startles slightly at the sight but she pushes her forward with steady hands, coming to stand next to the direwolf before she leans down to give him an affectionate rub behind his ear.

He lolls his head to the side, licking her face affectionately before taking off in a slow run. A few yards ahead he stops, his head turning before he runs back to her, doing a full circle around the startled horse before taking off again. He's as excited as a puppy and Sansa lets out a true laugh, before pushing her horse to follow him, the mare neighing before trotting ahead.

She may not know where she's going, but at least she's in good company.

She follows his lead across frozen woods and barren wastelands, his paw prints marking a clear trail through the fresh snow whenever he ventures out ahead. He never strays far, his howls a beckoning call whenever she lags slightly behind.

Ghost and Terra seem to have reached an understanding of sorts, and the mare is now completely comfortable with the direwolf's near constant presence at her side. It's heartwarming to watch, and Sansa feels a tiny bit of something grow roots inside of her heart. If these two completely different animals can accept one another, surely there is hope for her as well.

She wonders sometimes at the sense of following after Ghost without question, but she refuses to dwell on it. He left Winterfell with Tormund, so perhaps that's where he's taking her. Perhaps not. He seems to know where he's going and for now that is enough.

She prefers instead to bask in what surrounds her, the never ending emptiness, and the sheer freedom of it. She's never felt anything quite like this before, this utter lack of rules, no one to judge or berate her. She knows it cannot last, that this isolation will soon begin to overwhelm her, but she's enjoying it so far. She feels as though she's shedding layers of herself the further she wanders, the vastness ahead pulling her within until there is little left of the Lady of Winterfell, little left of the Starks daughter. Out here, there is only Sansa.

They come to a stop at the end of another day to settle for the night, a cluster of small trees and sharp rocks providing some comfort against the bitter wind, as she begins the painstakingly slow process of starting a fire. She's getting better at this, at surviving on her own, but the few provisions she brought along are dwindling. These are the times she worries, even though Ghost has been bringing her hares and other small animals every few days.

She huddles against his soft fur during the chilling nights, and maybe it's his closeness, or the feeling of being out in the open again, but the dreams return. She's still haunted by death and destruction only this time it's entirely different. It's Jon she sees riding the dragon, Jon who comes to take her in shackles to her doom.

Her conscious mind refuses to even think such things, choosing to believe he would never allow such actions to be taken against their home, against her. But in the grasps of sleep it's impossible to ignore the truth. _He's there, with her, marrying her, _and she can't escape the knowledge that he _must_ know, and has chosen to do nothing.

She wakes up in a cold sweat. Ghost is already up and about next to Terra, the two seemingly in confidence as they stand together waiting for her. She struts to them, giving him a rub behind the ear and patting her neck gently as she prepares to ride out.

"If you'd stop courting her for a moment we might get there sometime soon… wherever it is you're taking us," she tells him with a mock stern look.

It's as though he understands her meaning for he heads out, stopping only once to stare back at her, red eyes glistening in the soft light, before he starts again. She smiles before jumping on the horse. "I guess that's our cue."

The midday sun is shining brightly above her head, the snow glistening like a sea of tiny diamonds, when she sees the first plummets of smoke risking across the sky. "Good boy Ghost," she whispers.

There's a forest up ahead, with a clearly worn winding path between the massive trees, and Sansa is relieved when she sees it. Still, it takes their strange trio the better part of the afternoon to make their way through it. The sun is beginning to approach the horizon when they finally reach a small incline and she smiles as she sees the unmistakable shapes of dwellings in the distance.

She's startled when Ghost sets off to the left, straying from the path and into the deeper woods, and she stands on her saddle to call him out. He turns his head to growl at her, before starting back across the trees, and she grimaces in frustration. She's tired, her body yearning for a warm meal and an even warmer bed, and the prospect of ignoring him and hailing forward is tempting.

Still, he hasn't failed her yet, and at this point in her life that means everything. With a heavy sigh, she grabs Terra's reins and turns around to follow him.

Ghost leads her to a clearing, and a hut. It's a small inconspicuous thing, made to look even smaller as it's nestled between two massive rocks. There's a shed to the side and right in front of it, a man.

He's wielding an axe, chopping down wood for the fire, and from the size of the pile to his side he seems to have been at it for quite some time. He has shed his cloak and his furs, standing only in a tunic and breeches despite the freezing temperatures, and his skin glistens with sweat under the rapidly fading sun.

Ghost sprints towards him and he turns, dropping the axe with a happy laugh before sinking to his knees to grab the wolf's head and rub his own against it lovingly.

Sansa stops at the very edge of the trees as she watches them, her heart skipping a beat before beginning to pound against her chest.

The man seems to sense her presence and looks up sharply, grey eyes staring intently at her before he slowly rises to his feet. His hair is longer, dark curls falling over his eyes as he rakes a hand to push them back in a painfully familiar gesture.

_Jon._


	4. Happiness in Small Spaces

_Day 4: Stone and Snow__/Colours__/Soulmates_

**Summary:** Canon divergence. Jon and Sansa meet in the Vale.

Happiness in Small Spaces

They meet again in the Vale.

It's been years since they have last seen one another, barely bidding each other a distant goodbye when they had finally parted on the King's Road, her to go south to become a queen, him to go north to join the Night's Watch.

The years have changed them, hardened them somehow, the world joining forces to beat them and tear at them until very little of what once existed remains. They have grown, perhaps. They're not the people they once were.

She's not Sansa here, Ned Stark's proud daughter and the blood of Winterfell. Here, she's merely Alayne Stone, the bastard daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish, and there's a part of him that revels in that, in the knowledge that she's now what he once was, even as he recognizes it's petty and mean.

He's not Jon Snow here, the bastard of Winterfell, the absolute proof of his father's dishonor. Here, he's Prince Aegon Targaryen, the trueborn son of Rhaegar and Lyanna and rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and she can't help but wonder if she would have treated him any differently had she known the truth.

The gods appear to have a twisted sense of humor, seemingly conspiring to switch up their places in the world before finally reuniting them.

They recognize each other instantly. There's a flicker of something in both their gazes as they look upon each other, acknowledging changes dictated by both time and necessity, but it makes little difference. They both know who the other is, even as they act their parts.

"Your Grace."

"My Lady."

She dares to look up at him, a show of defiance and impropriety not unfitting a bastard. "I'm not a Lady." He smiles as he remembers those words being first spoken by an entirely different sister.

He's surprised at her boldness, at the ease with which she endures the stares and the comments of those who surround them. His sister was a delicate northern flower, beautiful and fragile, unwise in the ways of the world of men. His cousin, well… she's something else entirely.

She's surprised at his confidence, the easy way of his manners, how he seems to command attention whenever he enters a room. She remembers her half-brother as a forlorn looking boy, always sulking in corners, trying to blend away with the shadows. Her cousin though, he has the presence of a true prince.

Most of their days together are spent in political meetings. He is there on behalf of his aunt to try and secure the support of the Vale in her quest for the Iron Throne, through diplomacy or through force, although the latter remains unmentioned. He lacks the patience for it though, his steps growing restless and his hand reaching for the pommel of his sword, even though it's not there since he is not allowed to carry it inside the palace.

She sits in the meetings representing Lord Robin, the spoilt little child who is ruler here, a calm and collected sight as she weighs pros and cons to options, and secretly marvels at the small glimpses she gets of the real him, of the boy she once knew.

She begins to help him through the meetings, for whatever reason. Treachery perhaps, as one would expect from Littlefinger's daughter. She lacks the patience for it as well though and, more often than not, the meetings end with the two of them at complete odds with one another, locked together in endless arguments, heaving breaths and glaring eyes.

They never walk away from each other though. This is how they reconnect. They seem to bring out the worst in each other and there are those who begin to dread these meetings for fear of what may happen one day, when one of them forgets to stop in time. It's usually him that stops.

Time spent together in meetings soon begins to melt away into time simply spent together. They seem to constantly seek each other's presence, even if they do try to act casual about it.

It baffles those around them, this connection between the prince and the bastard. To the outside world, they are as different and as far removed as they could possibly be, the sun and the moon, summer and winter, fire and ice.

They don't know, and therefore couldn't possibly understand, that that is not what they are to each other. That they have been the lady and the bastard, they are siblings turned cousins, they have always existed in each other's lives.

They forget how all of those things cannot make sense, cannot exist without the other.

It is during a feast thrown by Lord Arryn to honor the prince that gossip truly erupts.

He sits among the nobles of the court in the high table, as is fitting, while she is amongst the commoners, down below. But once food has been consumed and the musicians come out he stands and goes to her, taking her hand and spinning her to the sounds of songs they both grew up listening. If she is surprised she doesn't show it, moving into his arms with the confidence of the lady she is not.

They only dance with each other that night, turning down every other prospective partner with a dismissive nod and a cold smile. Their warmth seems to be reserved only to each other and that is more than enough to set fire to the rapidly growing spark of comments.

She is to marry Harrold Hardyng, even if wicked tongues suggest that Lord Baelish would be more than accommodating to the idea of forsaking that engagement in sake of more profitable endeavors.

He is to marry his aunt though, an alliance that will ensure her claim to the throne she so desperately seeks, and there is no telling what the dragon queen will do if – _when_ – word of this reaches her.

They both know they are living within borrowed time. They speak of it, in stolen moments of solitude in the gardens, in the quiet of night when the world sleeps and they lay in each other's arms, sated and content. They know this cannot continue.

And yet, neither one makes a move to walk away. Their bond merely increases as the moon wanes and waxes and wanes again, as ravens come and go with nothing but vague answers to the queen's increasingly demanding questions.

It is only when Daenerys announces her impending arrival at the Eyrie, to see how matters are progressing, her trusted advisors at her side, do they realize their time is up.


	5. Song for the Sea

_Day 5: AU Day: Modern/Historical/Movies_

**Summary:** Modern day AU, rock band. Jon Snow and Sansa Stark's relationship hits the news.

Song for the Sea

"… the statement also claims that, despite her close relationship with them, Miss Stark is not in any way part of the band and therefore, her private life is not and will never be up for discussion. What do you say to that Hannah?"

The camera changes angles, focusing on a petite blonde woman wearing a practiced smile. "I say she sounds way too smart to be dating a rock star, Miles."

Sansa hears the first traces of their joint laughter before grabbing the remote and turning off the TV with a scowl. She shouldn't be surprised really. She is used to being somewhat in the spotlight once Robb's band hit it big, even though most reporters were polite enough to keep a respectful distance when it came to the band's families. The fans though were an entirely different matter and when it became known that she and lead guitarist Jon Snow were dating, well… it felt as though her entire life had taken a tumble and been swept upside down.

She had been in Essos for nearly a month now, a newly graduated marine biologist with a great career opportunity and a lot to prove. Jon and the rest of the band were back in Westeros, getting ready to begin recording their newest album. She hadn't really thought much of it, the day she saw someone taking pictures near the boat that would take herself and the rest of her team to another day's work.

It had taken a frantic call from Sam and going online to see those pictures splashed all over the Internet, headlines going from the more mild 'Jon Snow's girlfriend enjoys day at the beach with friends' to the downright accusing 'Is Sansa Stark cheating on Jon Snow?'

She had been furious then, and more than a little hurt. She knew better than to pay attention to any of it but it still irked her to no end that people would just assume something like that and spread it all over the internet, with no regards for the consequences. She had wanted to throttle them, much to Robb's amusement.

_Gotta get used to it sis. _She unconsciously mimics Robb's voice in her head as she remembers his smug look when she had called him. _Or else find a different boyfriend. Maybe a lawyer._

Jon hadn't been much help either, even if he was slightly more sympathetic. _I know you're mad at this Sansa, but there's really not much we can do about it. I know it's crazy but we just have to live with it._

In the end though, their manager had thought it important enough to release a statement about the whole thing, stressing the fact that Sansa was working in Essos and clearly labeling everything else as unfounded rumors. She still wasn't happy about it but she supposed it was the best she was gonna get anyway.

She picks up her phone, dialing the familiar number as she settles back down on the couch. It only takes a couple of rings for him to answer and she allows the familiar feeling of safety to wash over her like a warm comforter or a well-worn sweater.

"Hey babe." His voice is gravely and rusty, the way it gets when he spends way too many hours recording.

"So I just finished watching a segment about how Sansa Stark has a life that doesn't pertain the band and she should be left well enough alone." She raises her eyebrows even though he can't see her. "Care to comment?"

There's a pause, almost as if he is trying to figure out what to say and she smiles. For all his talent writing songs, he can be incredibly lost for words sometimes. "Yeah, about that… Edd thought we had to say something about it, to try and put a stop to all the rumors."

"And why's that exactly? Last time I checked, I had to learn to live with it."

There is another pause and she can hear him clearing his throat before speaking. "I might have had a… an issue with one of the reporters." He sighs and she can clearly imagine him running a hand through his dark curls. "He was asking if the whole thing, you and me being together, was just a publicity stunt."

She pauses, allowing the words to sink in. From a practical point of view, it isn't the worse she has heard. Hell, she is fairly certain she will hear far worse than that in the future. Still, she can see why that had stung him. They had gone through more than enough bullshit before getting to this point to have some asshole of a reporter question what they had.

There's a sigh on the other end of the line and she can't help the softness that comes over her voice, even if she was planning on teasing him for a while longer. "Jon. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." His reply is immediate, and she smiles at his constant need to protect her. "Nothing, it's just… I just miss you Sans."

Her heart stops for a second before rapidly picking up speed. She knows it's stupid, she should be more than used to him saying things like that to her, because he says them so often, but she still thrives at the sound.

"I miss you too Jon." Her voice sounds small, and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. "I thought it'd be cool you know? To be the one that goes away this time, while you stayed there. Turns out I don't like it either way."

He sighs again before answering her. "I don't either."

She allows her eyes to close for a second, letting the sound of his voice replace the longing she feels for him. Feeling calmer, she tries to lighten the somber mood they seem to have fallen into. "You know, they finished the segment with, and I quote, _she might be too smart for him_."

"You are." She furrows her brows, not quite expecting that answer. "Every day there's a small part of me that wonders if that's the day you'll realize you could do so much better than me and just leave."

"Jon." Her tone is harsh and she lets the anger flow into her voice like fire. "Don't be stupid. If there wasn't an ocean between us right now I'd be hitting you over the head. Hard."

He chuckles at her words and she relaxes somewhat. "If there wasn't an ocean between us I wouldn't be saying it. You pack a mean punch."

She lets out a soft laugh, letting her body stretch out on the couch, unwinding from the long day. "So how are things going at the studio?"

"Fine." She raises an eyebrow at the stilted answer, and can clearly hear the laughter in his voice as he continues. "They're going great. Just finished two new songs."

"Are they about me?" She can't help but ask even though she more than knows the answer.

"They're all about you, you know that."

"And how are the fans treating you, now that they know you're being cheated on?" There's a teasing lilt to her voice, and he answers her in just the same way.

"They're being very helpful actually. I've gotten more than a few offers to help me mend my poor broken heart." She scoffs at that, and he laughs.

"Well, you better behave, I don't wanna have to murder someone when I get back because some rabid fan assaulted you because you gave her the time of day." Her voice is still playful even if she's only partly kidding. About the murder anyway.

"You'd murder someone for me? I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

She lets out a startled laugh, her heart soaring at the easy banter. "Yeah, well, don't push it. It might be you I murder."

"Harsh Stark. Very harsh. You wound me." His voice sounds pouty and she feels the unresistable need to kiss him.

"Hey, is that my sister you're talking to?" Robb's voice comes over the line and her smile widens at the happiness in his tone. "Wait, of course that's my sister." There's a pause before she hears him add in a much more serious voice. "That'd better be my sister."

Jon's voice is still playfully warm as he answers him. "No, that's my girlfriend."


	6. This State of Weakness

_Day 6: Parallels/King and Queen/Memories_

**Summary:** Post series finale, future fic. Jon and Sansa try to have a private moment, the world conspires against them.

This State of Weakness

The lords begin exiting the Great Hall, a chorus of mingled conversations and rambunctious laughter mashing together with the sounds of heavy footsteps resonating across the stone floors. It takes the loud group a while to finally clear the room, leaving them alone at last.

Jon drops his head to his hands before he lets out a deep, forlorn sigh and the sound of Sansa's snicker follows but a moment later.

"Come on now. It wasn't that bad."

He lifts his head to look at her twinkling eyes, before giving her a reluctant nod. "No, it wasn't. But you're far better at this than me." He's not surprised when she doesn't deny it and merely shrugs her shoulders.

"I keep telling you you're good at this but you never listen to me." Her tone is petulant, the voice of a queen who is used to being obeyed, and his eyes crinkle at the corners with the smile that spreads across his face.

She always has faith in him.

After Daenerys and what happened in King's Landing, after he had been imprisoned and she had marched south with an army ready to start a war for him, he had truly believed he had lost his place with her.

But she had never wavered. Her first act as Queen in the North had been to pardon him, ravens flying to the Wall to let him know that he was free to come home, if that was his wish.

She hadn't believed that he would, not really. How fitting that the one time she seemed to have lost her faith, he had found it for her.

Her face had shined with disbelief when he had first rode through the gates of Winterfell, before blossoming into a smile of sheer happiness. She had forgone all propriety, all her lady-like behavior and the appropriate distance befitting a queen to spring across the courtyard and throw herself into his open arms.

_I'm home,_ he remembers thinking, and he had wondered if she had ever looked more beautiful.

She is saying something about the meeting, something important about their business deals with the south and all it entails, but he cuts her off. "Must we discuss this right now?"

She pauses and stares at him, picking up her goblet and taking a slow drink before conceding. "No, I suppose we don't. It can wait until tomorrow."

"Good." He stands from his chair as if he's about to leave the stuffy room and venture outside for a breath of fresh air, but instead he wanders closer to her side, his frame leaning down until his face is but a hairsbreadth away from hers. He doesn't say anything but it's not necessary. They have been married long enough that she can easily recognize the hunger in his grey eyes and she feels her own body instantly respond to his closeness.

They stand like this for only a beat of their hearts before she moves forward, closing the distance between them.

Fire seems to course through his body at the first touch of her lips. It's always like this with them, their fierce need for each other something intense and primal, dragging them both to a world where nothing else matters, nothing else exists, but them. He draws his body closer to her, feeling as her hands play with the curls at the nape of his neck while their lips melt together, feverish and hot.

She teasingly bites his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth before caressing it with her tongue, and he opens his mouth to let her inside, their tongues instantly tangling together.

Jon pulls her up to her feet without breaking the kiss, his hands running a path across her back and over her hips before grasping her thighs to lift her up. She gasps as he settles her on the high table, breaking the kiss to give him a smoldering look that makes his body burn.

She grabs the front of his jerkin, pulling him towards her and he moves without hesitation, his upper body pushing against hers, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist as the other sweeps at the table behind her. Their cups clatter loudly against the stone floor but neither pays it any attention, already too lost in the burning fire that always seems to simmer between them.

Somewhere in the distance a door creaks open, but the sound only truly registers through the hazy fog of passion once it's followed by a loud clearing of a throat.

Jon and Sansa stand up swiftly, their ragged breaths drawing a smirk on Tormund's face.

"Sorry to interrupt," he says, even as it's obvious he's anything but, "but people are looking for the two of you. I said I'd come get you, just in case you were busy." He waggles his brows suggestively and Jon feels his ears turn pink as Sansa hides a smile in the crook of his neck.

He's about to curse his friend with a few choice words when Sansa moves away from his side, a look of regret crossing her eyes as she pulls herself together and regains her composure. She grants him a soft smile filled with the promise to continue this and walks towards the door, giving Tormund a playful shove on her way out, earning a laugh from the big man.

Jon sighs as he begins to follow her, looking darkly towards his friend. "You know, your timing is shit."

Tormund clasps an arm around his shoulders before letting out a booming laugh. "Next time bolt the door, little crow."

He finds her in the Godswood, as he knew he would. She often retreats there, the only place where most people will not dare to disturb their queen. She had once told him how it was the only place where people wouldn't talk to her.

She's sitting on a rock, at the very edge of the water, looking to be lost in her thoughts. He hates the idea of disturbing her and has half made up his mind to leave her in peace but she looks up abruptly, seemingly sensing his presence, and their eyes lock. It's all the invitation he needs.

He sits next to her, so close that they're almost touching although no part of them actually does.

It has become sort of a game for them, reminiscent of the earlier days of their relationship, when neither one was willing to admit their feelings. Instead, they would skirt around each other, teasing and taunting, to see who would be the one to give in first. They have long moved past that but they still play it sometimes, and Jon stands proud in the knowledge that she caves as often as he does.

"Took you long enough to find me." She keeps her face neutral but her eyes are glinting and there is a slight tugging to her lips that gives her away.

"I didn't know I was supposed to be looking." He keeps his tone as casual as hers, leaning backwards and tilting his face up to the sky, letting the warmth of the sun caress his skin. The summer has been long and bountiful but news from north of the Wall speak of the already coming snows. Winter will be here soon enough.

He feels a dainty fingertip run across the bridge of his nose, tracing his cheekbones with infinite care before smoothing its way across his lips. He opens his mouth and pulls it inside, his tongue swirling around before his teeth gently nip at the skin.

She gasps softly before murmuring, "You're always so warm". Her finger leaves his mouth to continue down its path, across his jawline and down his neck before lightly tracing his collarbone.

He opens his eyes to watch the storm gathering inside hers, almost black with only a tinge of its normal blue around the ridges and he growls, a dark sound from deep in his chest as he pulls her roughly to his lap. Her hands hold his face as she pulls him in for a desperate kiss before curling in his dark locks.

His hand traces the outside of her thigh before roughly bunching up her skirts, and she lets out a mewl as his fingertips finally touch her bare skin. She can feel him pressed against her as she crawls even closer, his deep moan as she rubs against him further stocking the fire licking at her insides.

His fingers trace patterns on her skin as they continue on a slow torturous ascent and she rips her mouth from his with a growl. "Now Jon."

"Always so commanding." His tone is teasing but his actions betray his own desire for her, and he latches his mouth against the soft skin of her throat, drawing a moan from her lips. She'll bear the mark of this come morning, and she won't be pleased when she's met with the knowing glances of guards and maids alike, but right now he doesn't care. It's nothing that hasn't happened before.

They hear a yelp coming from somewhere to the side and Jon stops abruptly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against her neck. He's about to let out a string of curses quite unbefitting a king but she beats him to it.

"_Seven Hells Ghost!_ Not you too." She looks at the wolf with a frown and Ghost lets out a pitiful whine, laying down on the ground and placing his massive nose between his legs. For all his size, he looks properly chastised and Jon lets out a snort of laughter at the sight.

Her head snaps back to look at him, a scowl still firmly etched on her features, and he tenderly runs his fingers through her hair, letting the absurdity of the moment sink in.

"This is ridiculous," she finally laughs. "You're my husband, spending time with you shouldn't be this difficult."

He's still stroking her hair, his hands pushing the soft strands behind her ears as he moves forward to place a playful kiss on the tip of her nose. She giggles and he feels a tightening in his lungs. He loves the sound of her laugh.

"The people need their queen." He nods his head towards Ghost. "I think that's what he's trying to tell us."

"Sometimes I hate being queen," she whines, and there's so much of the old Sansa in her tone, so much of the child she once was.

"No, you don't." There's confidence in his voice, not because she needs the reassurance, but because he truly believes it. "You love being queen, and the people love you. You thrive in it."

She huffs in mock annoyance and leans forward, giving him a chaste kiss before standing up to brush her skirts back into some semblance of order. Once she's pleased with the way it looks, she holds out her hand to him. "Coming? Or do the people not need their king as well?"

He takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles before shaking his head. "I need a moment."

Her gaze flickers down to his lap when he squirms slightly to adjust himself and her lips tug upwards into a ghost of a smile as she lifts an eyebrow. "I see." He narrows his eyes but she's already turning on her heel, tracing her steps back towards the Keep. She looks over her shoulder at him, a smirk on her lips. "I'll leave you to it then."

Jon watches the sway of her hips as she walks away, Ghost happily scampering after her.

"Traitor."

There's a fire crackling in the hearth, trying to ward off the chill that has settled once night has fallen. Summer or not, nights are always cold in the North.

Jon rests over the warm comfort of the furs that make up their bed as he waits for Sansa to join him. He draws in a breath as she walks slowly into their chambers, freshly bathed and smelling faintly of flowers, her red hair a cascade of fire over her shoulders and down her back. She's wearing one of his tunics and nothing else, her long legs displayed in an invitation he longs to answer.

She stops at the foot of the bed, giving him a coy look that has his blood rushing south. Her eyes are hooded but for the long day they both had, she doesn't seem tired. She looks positively wicked.

"Are you tired?" Her voice fills the otherwise silent room, seemingly echoing his thoughts. He gives a slight shake of his head, unconsciously licking his lips.

She moves forward without any hurry, placing one knee on the bed and then the other, before she slowly starts to crawl her way over to him. He holds a hand out to help her and when she takes it, he pulls her forward with a smirk, settling her body over his. She stretches as she settles down, a languid movement that allows every part of their bodies to touch, and he moans softly at the feeling. She bites her bottom lip as she tries to stifle her own moan.

His hands push her red locks back over her shoulders before slowly moving down her back in a tender caress. She locks her eyes with his, her own hands over his chest where she can feel the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you Jon," she whispers before she pushes forward to crash their lips together. He responds instantly, his warm tongue brushing against her parted lips before sweeping inside. His hands leave the small of her back to grab her ass and he pulls her more firmly against him, grinding their hips together. She breathes out his name in a plea as she feels his length pressing against her core, his breeches the only thing standing between them.

"You're overly dressed for this," she huffs and he laughs against her lips before pulling her back for another kiss.

The unmistakable sound of the door of the solar opening makes them stop abruptly, and Jon quickly pulls the furs over them as Sansa rolls over and drops to the bed with an annoyed huff.

"Fucking unbelievable," he mutters under his breath, just as a head full of dark curls peaks around the entrance to their bedchamber, a pair of bright blue eyes looking towards the bed.

"Father? Are you asleep?"

"No. But you _should_ be." He looks towards his son, a mix of utter love and complete annoyance in his gaze. A moment later, the scurrying of tiny feet can be heard across the stone floors in the adjoining room just as their daughter comes barging in. She's bare footed, her red curls flailing across her face as she marches up to her brother and the two immediately begin bickering.

"You two should be asleep." Sansa's voice is stern and Jon rubs his hands over his face to hide the smile that threatens to spill over at the sheer frustration in her tone.

"We can't sleep," both children reply at the same time before looking over at each other and sharing a conspiratory smile. Sansa lifts an eyebrow at that, and Jon barely suppresses a groan at the sight.

"Alright now," he sighs in resignation, "off to bed and I'll come tell you a story."

"About the real North and the Free Folk?" His daughter's voice is eager and Jon looks into grey eyes that are exactly like his shinning with excitement.

"Yes, about the North and the Free Folk." Both children cry out in utter glee before running out of the room, the sound of giggles following them out.

Jon lies down on his back, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. "How we ever managed to make them is beyond me."

Sansa quirks an eyebrow at that before lying down next to him. "Do you think my Mother and Father had the same problem when we were children?"

"Doubt it." His tone is confident and she tilts her head to the side to look at him. "Your father was much smarter than me, I'm sure he knew how to lock a door." She snorts in amusement as she settles further back into the furs.

Jon rolls on top of her, bracing his weight on his hands as he lowers his mouth to her neck. "Don't fall asleep," he murmurs against her ear before gently nibbling on the lobe, "I've got a story I'd like to tell you."

He gives her a long kiss before standing up begrudgingly, pulling a tunic over his head before making his way to the door. Sansa is smiling from underneath the furs, a look of promise on her face. "And when I come back, I'm bolting that fucking door."

Sansa's snort of laughter is the last thing he hears before heading out.


	7. I Burn

_Day 7: Free Day_

**Summary: **Future fic. Jon and Sansa alone together. This is part of a different story that I'm working on, and planning to finish sometime this century, so there's not even a hint of a plot here.

**Author's notes:** This chapter is the reason why the rating of this story has been updated to M so if that's not your cup of tea, this is where your journey ends. Thank you for reading!

I Burn

The warmth of the sun is what wakes you, the few stray rays that made it past the entrance of the cave dancing across your bare chest. You slowly open your eyes, letting your gaze wander outside to be greeted with blue skies. The storm that stranded you for days in this cave is finally over.

You look to the side, towards the body lying next to you and pull her even closer. Her hair is splayed across your chest and shoulder, her face nestled in the crook of your neck, and you let your hand tangle gently in the red tresses, your thumb tracing lightly across her cheekbone.

Your other hand moves as well, fingertips trailing slowly down a well-traveled path over her back and across the curve of her waist, before settling over the spot on her hipbone that never fails to make her moan. You're rewarded when her lips part slightly and she lets out a muffled sound halfway between a sigh and a gasp before slowly, languidly, stretching her body fully against yours, making you groan. It's a torture yes, but an exquisite one. You can't help but wonder how long you can delay your departure.

Her eyes are still closed and she looks as though she's still fully in the grasps of slumber but there's a slight tugging of her lips that gives her away. She knows exactly what she's doing.

You bury your head in her neck, inhaling her scent, and let your tongue lick a path upwards towards her ear, before gently nipping the lobe. She moans then, and you smile. Two can play that game.

"Some of us are trying to sleep here, you know." Her voice is still raspy from sleep but there's a breathlessness there that further arouses your hunger for her. You're always hungry for her.

"You're awake? I hadn't noticed." The hand over her hip moves, your fingertips tracing over her thigh, inching closer to her core, and you feel her turn slightly, granting you better access. Your lips mover over her jaw with agonizing slowness, nipping and sucking gently before soothing the sting with your tongue. "You should try to get some more rest." You feel her body shake but you can't tell if it's a laughter or a shudder. Either one is fine with you.

You lift your upper body and use your weight to push her fully on her back against the furs, before rolling on top of her, careful not to hurt her even as she claims to love the feel of you pressed against her. She never feels trapped with you – like she did with Ramsay and Joffrey – and you thank the gods every day for the trust she places in you. For the love she gives you.

She keeps her eyes closed as she lays back, her red hair a stark contrast against the darkness of the furs, as her arms wrap around your neck to pull you down for a kiss you're only too eager to give her. You start slow, a gentle brush of lips, a slight tease with the tip of your tongue, but as always the sparks that constantly simmer between you quickly roar into a blazing fire. You feel her teeth nipping at your bottom lip and you open your mouth for her, your tongue sweeping inside before tangling against hers in a dance as old as time.

You end it far too soon for both your liking and she finally opens her blue gaze to look at you in a silent question. You give her a wicked grin – hungry and dirty and full of promise – before you dip your head and allow your lips to roam across her neck, her collarbone and the valley between her breasts. She lets out an undignified squeal of laughter when you dip your tongue into her navel and you smile softly. Her laughter is like music to your ears. You'd love to relish in it but there's quite a different sound you're aiming to get from her. Something you love far more. It doesn't take long for her laughter to be replaced by a loud moan when your mouth finally reaches its destination.

Your tongue licks a stripe over her folds and you groan at your first taste of her. She tastes like honey and coming home and all the wonderful things in all the songs she loves so much. Your fingers trace the inside of her thighs, spreading her wider, before settling across her waist to keep her still. She trashes as your tongue finds its way to her bundle of nerves, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer. She's breathing hard, your name coming out of her lips as if she is praying, and you lose yourself in this moment. Your mouth licks and sucks at her velvety folds, your teeth scrapping against the soft skin. Your own moans mix with hers until she comes, the curse that flows unbidden from her mouth so unlike her poised self making you even harder.

You slowly kiss your way up her body, settling yourself above her to reach her lips. The kiss is hard and unrelenting, a clash of teeth and tongues battling for dominance. Her hands trace the expanse of your back before settling on your ass, pulling you firmly against her. She's not shy about what she wants, and she always wants you. You revel in the knowledge as you share the sentiment fully.

You roll both of you over and she braces her hands on your chest, over your racing heart. And when she finally sinks down you hiss in pleasure, trying desperately to keep your eyes open. There's nothing you love more than seeing her poised above you, lost in the passion you create together.

Your thumb traces over her kiss swollen lips, caressing her throat with a gentleness that almost seems foreign in battle hardened hands, sweeping over her breasts before finally settling on her hips.

She rocks against you slowly, her fingers tracing patterns over your heated skin, and you push yourself upwards, towards her, always towards her. One arm goes around her waist as the other gently pushes a lock of red hair behind her ear. "I love you" you whisper against her lips and she closes the gap in between as she kisses you with all the passion you're both feeling.

"I love you too Jon." You should be used to the words by now but your heart still flutters at the sound of them. She wraps her legs around your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, and you kiss her throat as she throws her head backwards when pleasure explodes within her.

You wait for her to come down before rolling her onto her back, sinking into her even deeper than before. Your hands find hers and you entwine your fingers over her head, her long legs still wrapped around you, urging you to find your own pleasure. It doesn't take long, only a few thrusts, before you have to tear your mouth away from hers to roar out her name.

She combs her fingers gently through your damp locks when you collapse on top of her, as you both try to calm your racing hearts and heavy breaths. You know you must be crushing her so you tear yourself away from her arms, lying down on the damp furs before pulling her fully against your side. She goes willingly, tangling her legs with yours, her face nestled against the crook of your neck and it doesn't take long before you feel her lips lightly kissing the skin.

"Keep that up and we won't be going anywhere anytime soon." Your voice sounds serious but your hands betray your intent as you pull her even closer to you.

She sighs against your skin, her hands once again tracing random patterns on your chest. "The thought is very tempting." She raises her head to look into your eyes, her chin resting on your chest.

You smile as you run your fingers through her hair in a familiar gesture. "Aye, it is. I would gladly spend the rest of my days here, with you." Her answering smile is as bright as the sun when she moves forward to press a soft kiss against your lips.

It is merely teasing and you both know it. The journey has taken longer than you had anticipated, and despite the pleasure of the current situation, you begin to long for a warm bed with her beside you. It is that thought that finally makes you move.

You sigh in resignation and she pouts as you at last begin to rise, holding out your hands to help her to her feet. You move slowly, amidst burning kisses and teasing touches, as you both pretend to help each other don clothing. She plays with the ties on your breeches and you groan as her fingers skim lightly over your length.

"Sansa," you rasp and she looks at you with a face filled with innocence and the blue eyes of a seductress. You quickly repay the favour as you turn her around to help with the laces of her dress, your hands skimming over her breasts in a feather light caress.

The sun is well on its way to its peak as you finally exit the cave. You climb on your horse before pulling her up behind you, her arms wrapping around you as she presses herself fully against your back.

The sun is glinting against the freshly fallen snow, creating a shiny beacon that will finally lead you home. Until then, it is just the two of you and you are perfectly fine with that.


End file.
